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He is so

@goodguydelsin / goodguydelsin.tumblr.com

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cinisxcineris-deactivated201602

        One minute, he was there, and the next, he was here, standing in front of Betty But         Not Betty. The Betty from his youth, but how could that be, when he was twenty-         four now and he had been fourteen, fifteen, sixteen when he knew her. They way she         looked at him made him believe she’d been waiting for him, reassured him that this         wasn’t a dream, and that sinking feeling began. He remembered thinking, No, oh no,         and having to hyperventilate for an hour and a half before she calmed him down and         told him he was here for a reason.

        And it’s a good reason, he supposes, one that makes his skin itch with discomfort. It         all hits so close to home, right in the chest, and as Delsin drags the aerosol can in         front of the wall, his hood up and shadowing his face, he can’t help but think about         his life, his whole life and his mother and his father and his brother and the abuse         and the drinking and the struggle and he is so what? and just everything, everything         he was and everything he is and how he managed to get from point A to point B         without killing himself in the process.

        The one thing she’d said to him after she’d calmed him down was, “Don’t let him see         you. I don’t know what that would do,” and Delsin takes that to heart. He travels         lightly, keeping to shadows and tree lines and rooftops as much as he can, out of         sight and out of mind. He keeps his hood up, keeps a bandana around his neck to         pull up over his nose and mouth at a moment’s notice. The only thing he’s gotten rid         of his his vest, because of his precious collection of buttons, and he feels exposed         without it, even though he knows its absence helps him blend in more than anything         else.

        It’s one of his favorite designs, if not one of his most noticeable. He wants to just         get his younger self’s attention, wants to get him looking around, wants him         noticing. Tagging, the one thing they have in common right now, because his         younger self isn’t yet a Conduit and Delsin doesn’t know how else to communicate.         Pictures are worth a thousand words, and he leaves this one in plain view, blues and         whites on the side of a brick wall he’ll definitely pass on the way to or from school.

        And he finishes just in time, too. After capping the can and throwing it down the         length of the wall, Delsin moves a few feet away and keeps his head down,         crouching with his back pressed against the wall, arms looped around his bent         knees. His hood remains up and shadowing his face, and he hopes he looks more         homeless than anything. He keeps his head down, balanced carefully on his toes,         and makes sure his sleeves are pulled down over his wrists, his hands, hiding his ink         and the paint still clinging to his fingertips. That’s where he is when he glances up         and sees himself, and his heart starts to pound hard. He recognizes those bruises,         remembers that fall, and his jaw aches with the phantom pain of it. It’s been ten         years since his father died, and he still has nightmares about him crawling out of his         grave to terrorize him every so often.

        He holds his breath, watches his younger self’s feet, and listens as Delsin all but         chokes and comes closer to examine his handiwork. Only when the other is close to         the wall does Delsin dare to peek up in time to see him touch it. He bites his lip, a         hand lifting to push his bandana over his  chin just a little before he looks back         down at his knees. His curiosity wouldn’t let him hide somewhere less conspicuous,         and besides, who would suspect someone lingering near the artwork to be the one         who painted it?

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goodguydelsin

His stomach tightens and lurches and the back of his skull throbs with an impending headache. Or is that just residual pain from his head hitting the wall last night? His fingers curl against the tender spot and he slouches a bit, eyes darting in an attempt to find the artist - if they're still here. Though his phone rings and his stomach now drops; a quick glance confirms his fear but he picks it up anyways, taking in a deep breathe before answering, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Hey dad," a pregnant pause, browns knitting together, a wince, teeth chewing at his lips, hesitation, "Yeah, I'll be home soon."

He hangs up his phone and works his fingers against his eyes, the dark eating at the light until he opens them again, trained on the mural in front of him. Delsin wants to stay, he does. Desperately wants to stay. But....daddy calls. Shoulders slumping, he turns away and with one last look, stalks down the sidewalk towards hell home. This is going to piss him off all night, because who else tags in this town? Nobody he knows of, especially with such talent. It eerily resembles his own art, his own style, akin to the things in his sketch book...it festers in the pit of his chest and the feeling makes him want to throw up.

Delsin will come back, soon, he just, needs to let the beast drink himself into a coma on the couch, as he usually does.

His tongue rolls against the roof of his mouth, music rumbling once more, trying to bite back the anxiety in his chest over that fucking tag.

#cinisxcineris#[ggdrps]#tw// abuse#hnnng i hope this is okay#[ v ; let it be known that i was worthy ]
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His jaw hurts. His fingers find the tender spot that hit the edge of the counter and they rub and touch and try to soothe but there's no relief. It just a constant throb that burns and nestles deep into the skin the muscle the bones and -

his book bag is heavy on his shoulders as he walks, music humming in his veins through the headphones in his ears. He's skipping the remainder of his school day; it was simple enough to slip out the back door on the way to math and through the woods surrounding the back of the school. Break through the tree line on the other side and there's the road; sometimes they set up security along it because the school is aware of this issue but he's thankful to find nobody waiting his arrival.

Things are quiet. He passes the grocery store. The library. And the old brick wall cutting into the hill that all the younger kids like to rally around during the summer. Delsin lets the sleeves of his hoodie swallow his hands, ipod included as he passes it....and if he hadn't of let his eyes flicker upwards from the ground, he would have missed it.

A choked noise drops from his lips and he stops directly in his tracks, nearly tripping over his own two feet in the process. Somebody tagged here, and it wasn't him.

Blues and whites. It's the city of Seattle (he recognizes the Space Needle) cradled gently in the palms of two outstretched hands. His throat tightens and he gently touches the dried paint, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Delsin pulls his headphones out and looks around when he pulls his fingers away, and finds it...actually...

still in the process of drying.

#cinisxcineris#[ggdrps]#[ v ; let it be known that i was worthy ]#tw// abuse
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[ Text from; The D ] ok seriously dude im down to one hoodie [ Text from; The D ] you can steal them but i at least need a few back [ Text from; The D ] besides i can make them smell like me again [ Text from; The D ] point is i need you to bring a couple tomorrow

Eugene grumbles and pulls his blankets over his head as he hears his mother thump softly down the hallway, the screen of his phone glowing dim in the dark. It's late in the night and he's supposed to be asleep but surprise, he can't. And he'd be playing Heaven's Hellfire if it weren't for his mother being home.

[ Text to; The D ] I gotta sneak them out without my mom seeing [ Text to; The D ] I better get some back

He tugs the hood over his face and it nearly smothers him, partially hanging in his face; but he buries his nose against the fabric and inhales deep, the faint smell of axe and cigarettes making his stomach churn and his heart flutter. It's too big and he has to keep pushing the it back in order to see, but the sleeves swallow his hands and the smile on his face hurts his cheeks.

Because even if he can't have Delsin here, he has something to keep him warm, safe, oh...

[ Text from; The D ] you will, i promise. go to sleep, fetch says good night. [ Text from; The D ] and so do i. night angel. love you, sleep well.

Eugene is already asleep, phone still clutched tightly in his hands, curled tight to his chest, swallowed whole by both blankets and Delsin's hoodie.

#Delgene#[[ High School AU ]]#im on a delgene kick rn#My Writing
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